


Two to One

by CasualThursday



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasualThursday/pseuds/CasualThursday
Summary: Arcann is haunted by dreams of his dead twin. But are they just dreams?
Relationships: Arcann & Thexan (Star Wars), Arcann/Thexan (Star Wars)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Two to One

**Author's Note:**

> I am very late to this ship, but I rowed out here anyway. To those already onboard: thank you for your hard work. 
> 
> Special thanks to [National_Nobody](http://archiveofourown.org/users/National_Nobody) and [potooyoutoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/potooyoutoo), as always, for their marvelous feedback.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please mind the tags. :)

Ever since Senya brought him to be healed by the Voss, he hadn’t dreamed. Before that, it had been terror, unadulterated hate and anger, the dark side in its purest form. Before that, a variety of things— good and bad, but with Thexan always at his side. 

It was a different dream this time, a new dream.

He was in a field. Arcann smelled sweet grass, a cool breeze, the sound of it rustling the grass. In the distance, the Spire glinted in the setting sun, but before it—

A figure, sitting in the grass in front of him.

Arcann’s breath hitched. _Thexan_.

“You’re here.” Thexan turned to look over and smile at him, reaching out a hand.

Arcann moved toward him automatically, stumbling over his own feet. When he got close enough, he reached out a trembling hand because even if this was a dream—

Their hands met and Arcann grasped desperately, sinking to his knees beside his brother.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Thexan continued, squeezing Arcann’s hand, brushing a thumb along the knuckles. “I’m glad to see you.” Thexan shifted to face Arcann directly and raised his other hand to Arcann’s face. “Without the masks.” He was still smiling, though it was full of melancholy now.

Arcann bent over, pressing his forehead to Thexan’s hands and choked back a sob.

“Brother,” Thexan said, and Arcann could feel his anxiety. “Brother, tell me what troubles you—”

Arcann wept. Thexan pulled Arcann into his arms, cradled him in his arms, whispering to him all the while. “You are safe with me, Arcann,” Thexan said finally, once Arcann’s sobs had quieted.

Arcann felt cold suddenly and he pushed himself away, though it felt like prying open a barely healed wound. “But you are not.”

Thexan watched him for a moment before slouching slightly. “You are still angry with me.”

Arcann felt the words in his mouth die. “What?”

Thexan sighed, looking away for a moment. "I thought you were angry, and that’s why you didn’t come, and why I couldn’t reach you.” Arcann felt a dagger of self-loathing— but it did not come from himself this time.

“Never at you,” Arcann said hoarsely. “But myself.”

Thexan turned to look at him again. “Do not blame yourself,” he said sternly. “I have forgiven you long ago— there’s no need to continue your torment.”

“I will not,” Arcann said. “Because if I had not cut you down, you would be here.”

Thexan frowned. “But I _am_ here, brother.”

Arcann let out a laugh. “No. No, you are dead and gone and—” Tears welled up in his good eye again. “I killed you.”

When Arcann turned finally to look at Thexan, he looked stunned. The air seemed to hum with it, radiating outwards from Thexan’s form, before Thexan seemed to gather himself, the confusion melting into a determination that seeped into Arcann’s very bones.

Thexan reached forward to press their foreheads together. “Listen to me, Arcann,” Thexan said. “I am _here_ ,” he pressed his other hand to Arcann’s chest. “You lost me for a while, but I’m still here. And I forgive you. I love you.”

Arcann’s eyes pricked with tears. “Force, what are you doing to me?”

Thexan smiled. “Valkorian and the rest of the world has kept us apart for too long, brother. Come home.”

“I have no home,” Arcann refuted.

“Then who is?” Thexan mused. “You are mine.”

Arcann started, but Thexan held him fast. “Come home to me, Arcann.”

Thexan vanished, and Arcann fell forward without his support— 

Jerking upright up in bed, Arcann gasped for breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. He pressed his flesh hand to his face, feeling unsettled. Thexan had felt so _real_ , so _alive_ , his mind conjuring emotions as if from outside himself— 

He slipped from the bed and knelt next to it, settling into a long overdue meditation and venturing somewhere he hadn’t dared go before this.

The bond he shared with Thexan was no longer the blinding pain that it had been when Thexan first died, but neither was it muffled by the darkness that had consumed him soon afterwards. And though the Voss cleared away the darkness, they had barely started to heal the fractured bond. So instead, Arcann had closed himself off from it, shielding himself from it. Perhaps it wasn’t the best thing to do, but he did not trust another force-user to heal it. Senya had tried to help, but she did not have the training— and though he had allied himself to the Outlander, he didn’t trust the Alliance or its members.

Now it was an ache, a constant reminder, but it was no longer debilitating. Arcann had learned to live with it.

But now he must face it again. 

He lowered the shield, layer by layer, and the pain started to blossom again, strong enough that he felt it in his bones. Still, he refused to break his concentration, and when the last layer fell, he reached towards it carefully. 

Arcann felt as if he was dying, but like an echo of before, an incomplete death. The bond was still a mangled version of what it had been, writhing and reaching for its lost half, though the Voss had calmed it so that its movements were sluggish. Arcann pulled back, relayering his shielding, and opened his eyes.

Psychic and physical healing were Thexan’s area. Arcann never had the patience for it. 

He supposed he would have to learn for himself, now.

Arcann rose to his feet, mildly surprised to see that several hours had passed, and quickly readied himself for the day. He wondered mildly if the others thought he had overslept— or maybe hoped he’d died. He was still up earlier than Koth Vortena, who tended towards a nocturnal cycle— an unusual habit for a human. 

He sent a brief message to Senya back on Zakuul, and then continued through the day as usual, until, just as he headed back to his quarters, far away from others, Lana Beniko stopped him.

“Arcann,” Lana said. “Senya’s on the holocomm for you.”

Arcann followed her to the communications center. The Outlander was there, talking with Senya about the current situation on Zakuul.

“You’re here, Arcann,” the Outlander said, turning to greet him. “Senya said she wanted to talk with you.”

“Yes,” Senya said, her relaxed posture becoming more rigid when Arcann came into range. Her eyes flickered to the faces of the others still there, but they didn’t budge. Senya sighed and relaxed a bit. “The info you asked for,” she said. “I have it.” Senya’s brow furrowed. “But why are you asking for this? What could it possibly—?”

“I refused to think about it for too long, Mother,” Arcann said quietly. “But now I must.”

Senya raised a hand toward him, then dropped it. “I understand. I’ll deliver it myself.”

“Thank you,” Arcann said.

“Um, what info is this?” Koth asked.

“Another matter we need to worry about?” Lana questioned urgently. “How can we prepare?”

“No, it’s not that,” Senya said. “Arcann asked me for records from seven years ago.”

“Records?” Theron Shan repeated. “What for?”

“There is a period of time I don’t remember well,” Arcann said quietly. “From before the Outlander killed Valkorion's physical body.”

“And you want to know what Valkorion was up to?” the Outlander surmised.

“That… among other things.”

Senya arrived several cycles later. “Here are the records,” she said, handing him a datapad.

“Thank you,” Arcann said.

“May I join you?” she asked.

“Do as you wish,” Arcann replied, turning away to find a quiet secluded spot to examine it. 

“Most of it is pretty standard.”

Arcann heard her unspoken question and decided to answer it. “I’m looking for sudden disappearances, deaths. Trips away from Zakuul.” 

“Would it be encrypted?”

“Possibly,” he said. “It’s more likely that it was deleted.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Senya paused at the doorway. “Arcann, why are you torturing yourself with this?”

“I need to know.”

Senya nodded, with that same sad look on her face she’d had when they refused to leave with her as children.

Arcann didn’t know what to think of it. He felt a pang of pain. 

Thexan would know.

He devoted all of his spare time to examining the records. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for; he just knew that since that dream something didn’t seem right.

As he expected, there was nothing to decrypt, and the only things of interest were the deaths or disappearances of several guards, a couple medical officers, a pilot, and an engineer. Most were disappearances— reportedly an attack that destroyed a ship heading towards Vaynai, but a couple died on Zakuul. A freak accident involving several droids, and a sudden death, seemingly natural.

 _Seemingly_. Why was the Force so insistent on that fact?

And why was it pulling him back to Zakuul? There were only ghosts there.

Or was that just an excuse? 

Arcann sighed. His body needed sleep. Afterwards, he would return to Zakuul.

  
  
  


The Outlander did not seem too surprised when Arcann said he was leaving, saying “have fun” as they waved him off. When Senya and Arcann arrived on Zakuul, Senya was surprised at his appearance when he finally arrived.

“You choose to go unnoticed?”

“It’s the least troublesome,” Arcann said, raising the hood on his jacket to cover his face. 

Thexan’s ashes were kept in a vault, though with the palace’s destruction at Vaylin’s hands, Arcann could only guess if they still remained. Only a shell of the building remained and Arcann wandered around the perimeter, trying to find a way in. It was difficult, but he eventually made it to the vault, blasted open. Scavengers had already taken anything of value— except for one thing. He felt for the hidden panel with the Force and pried it open with a sudden desperation.

Inside was a small, nondescript metal box. Arcann removed it carefully, tucking it under his arm and climbing back out of the wreckage. He sat there, where the gardens used to be, now growing wild and free some places, dead and dried in others. He had expected to feel something, now that he held Thexan in his arms again, but there was instead a deep silence in the Force, in himself. Arcann slid the cover off and reached inside, hoping to break that silence— 

He had barely touched the sandy contents when he felt it, as strongly as if someone shouted in his ear.

_WRONG_

Arcann stumbled to his feet and away, the box falling to the side. He retched, but his stomach was empty— his eyes burned—

Thexan wasn’t there, it wasn’t him in that box. He felt nothing, no whisper of a shadow of a life from before.

_Thexan, where was Thexan?_

What could it mean? Why would father bury Thexan elsewhere?

He could feel the bond even behind his shields, shaking off the sleepiness from the Voss, and the pain spiked. It felt like losing his arm, but still feeling it, a gaping emptiness of what he no longer had. Arcann knew all this already.

If he was doomed to feel this ache, Arcann thought it better to have died and reunited with his brother.

_NO_

The pain spiked again, battering against his shields.

He didn't remember returning to Senya’s ship, but he must have because Senya was there, peering at him with more worry than he deserved, taking the box from his hands.

"What's the matter, Arcann?"

He was shaking, he realized. "I need to meditate," he said, "But I fear what I will find there."

Senya put her hand on his cheek, searching his face. "Then I will guard you," she said finally, dropping her hand to take both of his. "I am here."

Arcann nodded his thanks, settling himself to begin his meditation. He slipped into it far more easily than he had expected, considering his troubled thoughts.

He examined the bond, the source of his pain, powerful enough to have cracked his shields. This time he did not have the patience to take them down carefully, and instead let them fracture and fall apart. 

Arcann’s vision went white, pain blinding him, and then faded into black.

He opened his eyes to the Spire skyline, puzzled, his head in someone’s lap. Had Senya moved him outside first? 

And why did he feel so calm?

He turned sleepily, blinking slowly.

“I’m here.”

Arcann stiffened, eyes widening. “No, no, not again—”

“Arcann?” Thexan asked.

Arcann pushed himself up and away. “Why am I imagining this?” he muttered. He felt more than saw Thexan’s expression change, laced with sorrow.

“You think I am a conjuration?”

“What else could you possibly be?” Arcann snapped, hating how Thexan flinched, conjuration or no. “You died—”

“And how do you explain your current state?” Thexan interrupted, a frown growing on his face. 

“The bond is broken—” Arcann growled.

“Broken?” Thexan repeated. He bowed his head, frown turning thoughtful. “Injured it may be, but not broken—”

“You’re _dead_ —” Arcann snarled. “I cut you down—”

“You hurt me, yes,” Thexan said. “But did you not regret it? Or have your feelings changed?”

Arcann stared. “Of course I regretted it,” Arcann rasped. “And every minute of every day after.”

Thexan reached out and put a hand on Arcann’s cheek, and Arcann was too weak to pull away. 

“Our bond is strong,” Thexan said. “Damaged, yes, but together we can heal.”

“I held your ashes today,” Arcann said dully.

“But were they really mine?” Thexan questioned. Arcann shuddered, leaning into Thexan’s hand. 

“No,” Arcann whispered. “But if not there, where are you?”

Thexan sighed. “I thought I was there, on Zakuul.” He sounded wistful. Arcann’s heart hurt, his head hurt. He could no longer tell if this was a dream. It felt too real, Thexan’s mind next to his. 

Even if this was a dream, he could not deny Thexan. Even if it was to appease his ghost and bury him properly.

“If Father wished to keep you hidden,” Arcann started. “Nathema is where he keeps his hidden things.”

Thexan’s eyes lit up. “So you will look then?”

“Yes,” Arcann replied. “If only to get some closure.”

Thexan’s gaze dropped and he dropped his hand. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Closure.”

“Thexan?”

Thexan shook his head. “I have doubts, same as you,” he said. His mouth quirked upwards. “Perhaps these are the hallucinations of a dying man.”

Arcann paused. “If neither of us is going mad,” he started, “then why does the bond hurt so much?”

Thexan raised a brow at him. “Doesn’t a healing wound ache almost as much?”

Arcann blinked his eyes open.

“Arcann!” Senya’s relieved face came into view.

“What… happened?” Arcann asked. 

“You just… collapsed,” Senya said, helping ease him into a sitting position and handing him some water. “And the pain—”

“I’m sorry,” Arcann said. “I did not want you to see—” 

Senya shook her head. “I only wish I had noticed it sooner, to aid you.”

“This is not a wound you can help with,” Arcann said. 

“Then who can?” she asked.

Arcann swallowed. “Thexan,” he replied, and he watched horror and shock filter across her face before being replaced with sadness.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, touching his cheek gently.

Arcann shook his head. “I need to bring him home.”

Senya crouched next to him. “You can’t bring him back, dear one,” she said sadly.

Arcann summoned the box to him. “Can you sense him in here?” he asked quietly. “Because I cannot.”

Senya frowned, but humored him. “No, it’s… strange.”

“Empty of the force,” Arcann continued. He sighed. “I have strange dreams, mother.” 

Senya touched his shoulder.

“My brother’s ghost will not leave me be,” he said. “I need to make sure, before I go mad.”

Senya’s face pinched. “I understand that you need to do it, though I cannot truly understand why.” She leaned over and embraced him.

Arcann returned it after a stunned moment. She was so warm and alive.

As the Thexan from his dreams had been.

“I can’t go with you,” Senya said regretfully, pulling back.

“You have duties here,” Arcann said. “I will be fine.”

“And the Alliance? What will you tell the Outlander?”

  
  
  


He ended up telling the Outlander this:

“I wish to bring my brother home.”

On the holocomm, Arcann could see the uncomfortable faces of Koth, Lana, Theron, and the Outlander.

“Um, should we tell him?” Theron said.

Lana shook her head. “He’s gone completely insane!”

“Arcann…” The Outlander trailed off with a worried sigh. “I hope that isn’t what I think it means.”

Arcann felt a flicker of amusement before he suppressed it. “My brother’s body is not on Zakuul, but it should be. I suspect Valkorion had him moved to Nathema.”

“Woah, why would he do that?”

“It’s difficult to understand most of my father’s motivations,” Arcann said, dryly.

“Sure seems strange, though,” Theron said. “Even for Valkorion.”

“Is it safe for you to travel that far into Sith territory?” Lana asked. “They’re not great fans of yours.”

“Perhaps,” Arcann admitted. “But I must do this.”

“Wait at least until we can set up a team,” the Outlander continued. “Vitate set up a base there, right? I’ve been meaning to check it out more thoroughly.”

Arcann bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I understand. In the meantime, I’ll return to Odessen.”

Of course, unexpected complications arose, as they tended to do: Theron’s betrayal, and the events that followed— 

The Outlander asked Arcann to stay behind on Odessen, which he did, and remained there even when the Outlander traveled to Nathema, and after that, when the Eternal Fleet and the Gravestone were destroyed.

It took the Outlander fifteen days to return to Odessen, and it was some time after that before the Outlander approached Arcann.

“Can we speak?” The Outlander asked. They looked anxious, and Senya followed several paces behind.

“Of course,” Arcann said, gesturing for the Outlander to lead the way.

They entered an empty conference room and turned to face Arcann as soon as the door closed. Apology and regret was clearly written on their face.

“I’m sorry,” they said gently. “We scanned Nathema and followed any leads. There was nothing.”

Arcann froze. A strange buzzing suddenly filled his ears. 

“Arcann?” Senya asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“I see…” Arcann said softly. “Excuse me, I— I need to think.” 

Perhaps it was rude, the way he turned on his heel without being dismissed and left the room, not looking back until he reached his quarters, raised his shields, and let himself fall apart.

He spent the rest of the day in a daze, almost walking into walls, staring vacantly into space. More than once, he caught the others exchanging looks, but Arcann couldn’t bring himself to care. It didn’t matter, after all.

Nothing really mattered.

Everyone at the base was busy rebuilding and developing new technology to replace what Zildrog had so dearly cost them. Droids were working on the power system.

They were in a meeting of some sort— Arcann couldn't bring himself to focus or care about it— when the power cut out suddenly, plunging them into darkness.

The ringing stopped abruptly, replaced with a comfortable quiet and Arcann felt himself relax for a moment, an ache fading from somewhere within him— 

The lights flickered back to life and as soon as it came, that calm left him and the ringing returned, this time deafening and painful and Arcann gasped from the strength of it.

Thexan.

Thexan was _here_.

The others turned to him with curiosity and concern. “What’s happened?” Lana asked.

“Outlander,” Arcann started, breathing harshly, “Are you punishing me for my past crimes?”

“What— no, of course not—”

“Then what did I do to deserve this?” He asked it desperately, his shields failing him, pain engulfing him like the tide of a moon, inevitable.

The Outlander’s face shifted, growing determined. “I won’t lose you to the dark side again, Arcann.”

Arcann could only stare in reply, too stunned to react when the Outlander approached him and— pulling it out of nowhere, activated a force shield. One that kept him from reaching out with the force and from anything else reaching inside.

Another wave of agony crashed over him, his sorrow at the betrayal stronger than his anger, sorrow at how the Outlander would keep them apart—

Sorrow that he would _never see his brother again_ —

Behind the hum of the shield, Arcann heard a rattling, and his eyes found a stack of datapads on a conference table. They were trembling— in fact, everything was shaking, dust was drifting from the ceiling, and Arcann watched the expressions of shock and fear pass over everyone’s faces. 

A door off to Arcann’s left opened and Arcann fell to his knees as Thexan walked through it.

Thexan, dressed plainly, without the garb of being a Knight of Zakuul, hands clenched into fists, walking with the quiet confidence that ruled his every action. His expression, however, was of pure fury.

With a subtle gesture, both the Outlander and Lana’s lightsabers flew towards him and were ignited.

Arcann tried to speak but the words caught in his throat.

“What depths of deceit did you fall to, Jedi?” Thexan asked lowly. In the light from the sabers, Thexan’s eyes flickered to yellow. “Valkorion, I could care less for. Vaylin, I have grieved. But Arcann—” Thexan flashed forward, the Outlander barely evading the double blades that reduced the chair behind them shreds. “I will not forgive, or forget—”

“Thexan—” the Outlander called desperately. “Please listen—”

Thexan laughed, a cold, dark laugh that sent chills up Arcann’s spine. “I will not live long without him,” he said, “But I’ll take you with me.” He lept again and Arcann suddenly found his voice.

“Thexan!” he shouted hoarsely.

Thexan twitched, such a small movement that Arcann thought he had imagined it, and the Force stopped him in place, setting him back on two feet. He turned vaguely in the direction of Arcann’s voice, and Arcann watched Thexan’s eyes darting every which way, unseeing.

“Disable it!” Arcann snapped, and, to his mild surprise, Koth Vortena snatched the control and it powered down.

Despair, confusion, and rage were thick in the air, but Arcann reached out, touching Thexan’s mind and then, disregarding the still lit sabers, embraced his brother.

It was painful— he had expected it to be, disturbing a bond that was still writhing in pain, but it was a different hurt, a good hurt— the healing of a long unattended wound.

“Arcann?” Thexan asked, sounding fragile, daring to hope.

“I’m here,” Arcann whispered. “You are safe with me.”

“Thought you were gone—” Thexan mumbled, lightsabers powered down and falling with a clatter to the ground. “Couldn’t feel you.”

“And now?”

Thexan hummed quietly, holding Arcann tighter. _Yes,_ flickered across their bond, still frayed, but reweaving itself, stronger and more resilient than before, pain receding into an ache. Arcann could feel Thexan’s exhaustion now, hibernation sickness in full effect. _I’m sorry—_

 _I’ll take care of you,_ Arcann replied. _Rest. I’ll be here._

Arcann could sense Thexan’s small smile, felt him press a kiss to his temple before he sagged. Arcann supported his weight, lowering Thexan carefully to the ground until Thexan’s head laid in his lap.

“Arcann—” The Outlander started.

“Leave, Outlander,” Arcann said coldly. “Before I change my mind and finish what my brother started.”

Theron glared at him. “Try that and I’ll—”

“Theron, let’s just… leave for now.” The Outlander practically fled from the room, Theron trailing behind them. 

Arcann pulled Thexan up to rest more securely in his arms. 

“Do you need help back to your quarters?” Lana asked.

Arcann stared at her in confusion, and Lana gave him a small smile. 

“You are not a Jedi,” Lana explained, “You shouldn’t be held to a Jedi’s oath of no attachment.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry— this should never have happened.” She stood, calling her lightsaber to her hand and clipping it back on her belt. “What can I do?”

Arcann stared at her for a moment more before sensing she was being genuine. “My mother. Can you call her here?”

Lana nodded. “Of course. Do you need help carrying him?”

“No,” Arcann answered shortly, gathering Thexan in his arms and standing. He hesitated. “Perhaps a medical droid—”

“Done,” Lana said immediately. “Rest well.” She left through the still open door.

Koth coughed. “Um, I’m just gonna—”

Arcann turned to look at him. “Thank you.”

Koth froze, his mouth dropping open. He coughed again, “Right, er, well—” He scratched the back of his head. “Don’t mention it. Really. Ever.”

Arcann nodded and left, Thexan securely in his arms.

  
  
  


When Arcann awoke, it was the first time in years that it was without panic, the sense of something so utterly wrong that the Force seemed to scream with the intensity of it. He felt safe, warm, _loved_ — 

He forced his eyes to open, finding Thexan looking down at him.

Arcann raised a hand to touch Thexan’s face, watching enraptured as Thexan closed his eyes and leaned into it, absolutely trusting, pure affection flowing through the bond.

Arcann’s breath hitched, eyes growing wet.

Thexan’s face morphed into one of concern, eyes opening again. “What ails you, brother?” he asked quietly, comfort and love sent towards Arcann in a gentle wave of warmth, “Your enemies are my own—”

Arcann shook his head as he sat up. “It wasn’t a dream,” Arcann said finally, choking on a sob as the treacherous tears fell.

Thexan’s expression softened in understanding, because he, too, had felt that doubt, that fear that the separation was permanent.

Arcann couldn’t hold himself back and lunged forward, pulling Thexan into a hug again. This time, Thexan was strong enough to hug him back, hand resting on the back of Arcann’s neck to press Arcann further into the crook of his own neck. They stayed in that position for a time— Arcann wasn’t sure how long, exactly. All he paid attention to was the steady pumping of Thexan’s pulse, the warmth of his body, the constant, gentle presence of their minds meeting. 

Shame flared to life in Arcann’s gut. Here he was, a murderer being comforted by his victim. He pulled away reluctantly, putting as much distance between them as he could— given that, their knees were still brushing. “I am that enemy,” Arcann told Thexan hoarsely, dropping his head as more tears started to fall. “I struck you down and in doing so I almost killed us both—” 

Thexan cradled Arcann’s face in his hands, forcing Arcann’s chin up to look at him. “It is past,” he said firmly. “I forgave you long ago.”

Arcann jerked his head away, ignoring the hurt he sensed from Thexan at the motion. “You shouldn’t,” he replied darkly. “I don’t deserve—”

“Arcann,” Thexan interrupted. “I _forgive you_.” His eyes were clear, the bond humming with the truth in his words. “You need to forgive yourself.”

Arcann shook his head immediately. “I don’t deserve—”

Thexan let out a huff. “Kriff what you think you deserve,” he muttered angrily. “I’d give you the galaxy.”

Arcann clenched his eyes shut. “I hurt you, _betrayed_ you, and Father—”

A flicker of rage came from Thexan’s bond. “Tell me,” he said urgently.

 _You were ripped from me—_ Arcann couldn’t voice the hurt, still too close to the surface. _You were dead and gone and somehow I still breathed—_

Warmth and love surrounded him, buoyed him against the current of emotions and Arcann flinched.

 _How can you stand to be here?_ Arcann wondered, half disbelieving, half hysterical. _I_ killed _you—_

_And I love you_ , Thexan replied fiercely. _You could do nothing to make me love you less_. 

Thexan reached for him again, and Arcann didn’t pull away.

  
  
  


When Arcann woke again, Thexan was still there, curled against his side and sleeping peacefully. Arcann was reluctant to move, but his stomach protested. He rose to make arrangements for rations when he sensed a presence outside the door.

 _Senya_.

He fumbled with the door to open it, finding Senya at a parade rest, her back turned, guarding the door. She turned towards him immediately. “Arcann!” she said. “They said—”

Arcann jerked his head in affirmation, taking his mother by the arm and guiding her inside.

“Oh,” Senya said. She brought up a hand to her mouth, and tears started falling immediately after. She walked over quietly, bending over enough to rest her hand on Thexan’s head for a long moment. Arcann saw her swallow.

“You’re healing well?” she asked quietly. 

Arcann furrowed his brow, and Senya let out a light laugh as she settled on a chair near the bed, leaning over to tuck the blankets around Thexan more securely, just as she had done when they were children. “The bond you two share is the strongest I’ve ever known,” Senya said. She met Arcann’s gaze. “I’m sorry it took me too long to realize how badly you were hurting.”

Arcann sat down on the bed, smiling slightly when Thexan immediately curled towards him. “When?” Arcann asked.

“When you saved me,” Senya said. “The boy I knew was still there, but you were hurting—” She shook her head. “I remembered the bond you shared, finally realized just how much you lost.” 

Arcann didn’t know what to say in response. Her gentle acceptance at the bond between him and Thexan, when Valkorion’s was so dismissive, so intent to destroy it— it made it all the clearer which parent they would have been better off with.

“You haven’t eaten,” Senya said, rising. “I’ll gather something.”

“Thank you for guarding us,” Arcann said.

“I did it gladly,” Senya replied. She frowned. “The Outlander has much to answer for,” she said lowly. “Any decision you decide to make, I will stand with you.”

Arcann rose as well to escort her to the door. “Make sure you gather something for yourself to eat as well,” Arcann added. 

Senya blinked, as if surprised, before breaking into a beautiful smile. She touched Arcann’s cheek. “I will.”

Arcann watched until she rounded the corner. Theron noticed Arcann’s appearance and blanched, but Arcann only spared him a glare before shutting the door.

  
  
  


It was several days before Arcann felt ready enough to leave the safety and privacy of his quarters— their quarters now.

Thexan was quickly regaining his strength, but whatever time it took to heal him before being placed in stasis had left his muscles slightly weakened. Senya had returned with clothes for Thexan, as well as his lightsaber.

“I thought it’d been destroyed,” Arcann said, watching as Thexan gave a few practice swings.

“Luckily, no.” 

Thexan turned back to them, grinning, and gave Senya a grateful hug. “Thank you, Mother.”

Senya laughed joyously. “You are most welcome, dear one.” Her smile faded somewhat. “I want you to be prepared before I return.”

“To Zakuul?” Thexan asked. At Senya’s nod, he continued. “Are the people well?”

“It can be chaotic and supplies are limited, but they are in good spirits,” Senya replied honestly. She kissed them both on the cheek. “Stay well and strong, dear ones. Keep me updated.”

Arcann was a bit more on edge without Senya’s presence, but Thexan was well enough to train again, and past well enough to defend himself if need be. They spent their time roaming the outdoors, Arcann filling Thexan in on every detail that he’d missed, not sparing his own feelings of guilt and shame at the violence and destruction wrought at his orders and by his own hands. 

Thexan’s own story was shorter, mostly spent unaware or floating in darkness, unable to reach Arcann. At least until Arcann was healed by the Voss, and then a light filtered through. 

“My moments of awareness became longer,” Thexan explained. “When I was not in the field, waiting or looking for you, I was examining my surroundings. Trying to interact with it. Eventually, I disabled the Force-shield generators on Nathema, but I couldn’t reach you.” Thexan took a deep breath. “I thought you were dead until I felt you again.” 

Arcann reached across to hold Thexan’s hand, and Thexan squeezed.

“It took a long time. Almost too long. And when another Force-shield came up, in a place where I had felt you stronger than ever—” Thexan shook his head, an echo of his past despair escaping his shields and Arcann weathered it. “I thought you dead for real.” Thexan smiled bitterly, tears falling freely down his face. “My only thought was avenging you before we could be together again.”

Arcann shuffled forward to pull Thexan closer. “I am here,” Arcann said softly. “We are together.”

Thexan shuddered in his arms before relaxing. “Yes,” he replied. _And may the Force take whoever tries to separate us._

It’s a sentiment that Arcann felt in kind. He reached out and felt Thexan reaching out in return.

In the Force, they were one.

  
  
  


When Arcann finally felt ready to attend a meeting, two weeks had passed. Thexan decided to remain behind in their quarters for the time being to wait.

“Arcann!” The Outlander looked stunned, but that quickly faded and guilt took its place.

“I apologize for missing the past several meetings,” Arcann said smoothly, cutting off whatever words the Outlander planned to say next. 

Lana simply nodded. “You read the reports?”

“Of course,” Arcann said. Then they got to work.

It was only after the meeting that someone brought up Thexan.

“Is he doing well? We’ve hardly seen either of you,” Lana said.

“He is,” Arcann said, “A lot has happened while he was asleep.”

“Sorry for blowing up on you two earlier,” Theron added quietly. “I should have handled that better.”

“It was quite the dramatic entrance,” Arcann admitted. “I’m glad that no one got hurt.”

Koth visibly winced at that. “Yeah, or else we’d be cleaning up Alliance Commander bits from the ceiling.”

“I’ve beaten Arcann before,” the Outlander said defensively.

“But not both of them,” Lana pointed out.

The Outlander fell silent and started to fidget. “Could you call him here? Please.”

Arcann shifted his gaze to the Outlander and the fidgeting worsened. _Thexan, the Outlander wishes to speak with you._

 _If they want a rematch, they shall get it._

Arcann struggled to hide his smile but managed to in the end.

The Outlander’s fidgeting was becoming ridiculous. “So… can— can you call…?”

Arcann raised an eyebrow and turned towards the door just as it hissed open. He felt his breath hitch and his eyes widen.

Thexan was wearing his old uniform, the dark version of Arcann's own, lightsaber at his side. He walked into the room, footsteps nearly silent, expression calm, but his gaze was sharp, calculating.

Arcann had seen him enter the barracks in a similar fashion hundreds of times before and watched soldiers fall silent, respect and awe straightening their spines, calling them to listen.

The room fell silent as it had back then, and Arcann was in awe of him. 

_Did I interrupt, brother?_ Thexan questioned.

 _Never,_ Arcann responded. _I believe they are more surprised by your excellent timing._

Thexan’s laughter danced across his mind.

"Outlander," Thexan began. "It's time to talk."

"Okay, I'm _so_ not missing this," Theron whispered.

“Yeah— I mean, yes!” The Outlander started to fidget again. 

Thexan came to stand next to Arcann, hands clasped behind his back. “What was your intention, keeping me in stasis?”

The Outlander straightened their posture. “Your death was what led to Arcann being corrupted by the Dark Side in the first place. I understand that the Knights of Zakuul don’t have such rules against attachment, but it’s clear that this attachment led to such extreme and violent behavior that I couldn’t risk it returning.”

“But that’s no longer an option,” Thexan said calmly. “Has what you expected come to pass?”

The Outlander shook their head. “No,” they admitted, “but if we lose you in the future—”

“That won’t happen,” Arcann said sharply, hands clenched into fists. The entire room tensed.

 _Peace, brother_ . Thexan’s presence was a balm against his anger, making it fizzle into nothing. _I don’t intend to go anywhere_. 

Arcann calmed himself immediately, finding it easy to release his rage now, when not doing so had cost him Thexan in the first place.

 _Not without me_ , Arcann replied, and Thexan answered in a caress, the reassurance that yes, they would never be apart— not really.

The Outlander was staring at them. “I thought— your bond didn’t form during your battles on the core worlds, did it?”

Arcann frowned, feeling Thexan do the same. “Of course not,” Arcann said. “It’s been there since the beginning.”

“Childhood?” Lana asked.

They both shook their heads. “It’s always been there,” Thexan clarified.

“Oh…” The Outlander’s mouth fell open, their eyes wide. “Well, kark.”

Arcann watched as Lana and Theron’s heads whipped around to gape at the Outlander.

“Sorry,” the Outlander muttered. “I’m _just_ getting a grasp of this situation. Um, Thexan?”

Thexan raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“You used the Force to get out of stasis, right?”

“Yes,” Thexan confirmed.

“How is that _possible_?” Lana shouted. She took a deep breath raising her hand to her forehead. “Impossibly powerful Force-sensitives,” she muttered.

Arcann shared a look with Thexan, who shrugged.

“Wait a moment,” the Outlander closed their eyes.

Thexan’s side of the bond was questioning, but Arcann bade him to wait. 

“Oh,” the Outlander said. “Oh,” they repeated, tears suddenly falling down their face. They let out a choked laugh, wiping at their eyes. “I’m a fool,” they muttered. They looked back up to meet Arcann and Thexan’s eyes in turn. Then bowed, deeply, and held it.

“I cannot say the words enough to express my regret,” they started formally. “In my arrogance, I thought myself wiser than the Force, and hurt an ally and another potential one in the process. All I can do is ask for forgiveness, and do what I can to earn it.”

Theron was gapping at the Outlander, while Lana had a small, satisfied smile.

Thexan looked perplexed, glancing to share a look with Arcann. Arcann nodded.

“You can earn it by learning from it, Outlander,” Thexan said quietly. “Remember that the one who separated us in the first place was Valkorion.”

The Outlander looked up, face unnaturally pale. “I understand. Thank you for giving me the chance.” They straightened slowly. “I apologize, I— I think I need to meditate on the matter.”

The Outlander bowed again and left the room.

“So…” Theron said slowly. “Is there something about Force-users and carbonite that I don’t know about?”

Arcann’s eyes widened as he jerked around to stare at his brother. _Carbonite_? He felt both fear and awe— the strength of the bond they shared, the absolute enormity of how much his brother loved him—

 _Death cannot separate us, brother_ , Thexan replied. _Metal is nothing._

Arcann shook himself mentally, exasperated at Thexan’s nonchalance. The emotions in his heart rose, ones that he long thought lost before he quieted them again. There would be time to deal with those, examine them closely, later.

  
  
  
  


Thexan joined Arcann on most of his Alliance missions, and everyone was wise enough not to argue that fact.

Not that it ever turned out to be an issue— Arcann knew he was biased, but every mission they went on thus far was a success.

They had yet to spar against each other, and Arcann was conscious of the fact that he was trying to avoid it. Thexan allowed it, in the meantime, though Arcann could sense his concern, read his worry in the furrow of his brow.

“The Outlander defeated you once,” Thexan said. Arcann nodded. He had told Thexan everything, though it shamed him— a mental swat from Thexan stopped that line of thought. “It was hardly a fair fight,” Thexan murmured.

Arcann frowned. “It was.” Arcann couldn’t read Thexan’s facial expression, and the thoughts from his side of the bond were less than forthcoming on the matter. Arcann gave an exasperated huff. “The Outlander is powerful.”

“Hm,” Thexan said. “We shall see.” 

“Why do you want to challenge them?” Arcann asked curiously, and not a little afraid. If Thexan was injured again—

Thexan reached out, physically and mentally soothing the thought before it could fully form. “I’d like to spar.” _And you don’t wish to just yet._

Arcann felt another flash of shame before soothing it away himself. He was still getting used to having Thexan at his side again— he wasn’t quite ready to relive the memories that led to their separation.

“If you wish it, I will not ask,” Thexan said quietly.

Arcann sighed, squeezing Thexan’s hand. “You are free to do as you wish. However—” He leaned forward to press their foreheads together. _You will be careful_.

Thexan smiled, closing his eyes. _For you? Always._

Arcann huffed in amusement this time, pulling back. “I will be there.”

  
  
  


The Outlander had agreed to a match, though kept it quiet, not wanting an audience. Lana was there, interested in their fighting styles, and Koth, but besides a few other Alliance members, the open space they had chosen was rather free from spectators.

“Shall we, Outlander?” Thexan asked.

The Outlander nodded, relaxing into their preferred stance. “Let’s.”

They moved immediately toward each other, sabers flashing and colliding at incredible speed. The Outlander slipped from one form to another, and Arcann recognized it— 

He snapped shields up around the bond, not wanting to distract Thexan as panic grew inside him—

High block, left outward block, right block— The Outlander pushed down, took a step forward to twirl into the sideways strike that would strike at Thexan’s unguarded stomach—

Thexan blocked it easily, and they continued. Arcann’s panic mixed with confusion, hands clenched into fists, breath quickening. He wasn’t sure what expression he was making, but he was sure he didn’t want others to see it and missed his mask for the first time in months. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Arcann felt a tendril of questioning come from Thexan, but in the storm of his own emotions, he couldn’t send something reassuring back.

In a blink, the Outlander was disarmed and on their knees, Thexan holding both lightsabers at their throat. 

The shock in the room was palpable. The Outlander swallowed. “I yield,” they said roughly. Thexan disengaged immediately, reaching down to help pull them to their feet, handing over their lightsaber. The two bowed to each other in respect, the Outlander’s expression still a little stunned. 

Thexan was already heading towards Arcann, love and reassurance wrapping around Arcann like a cloak as he was pulled into Thexan’s arms. _I’m sorry,_ Arcann asked, _I didn’t mean to distract you—_

_And I didn’t mean to frighten you,_ Thexan replied, settling a hand on the back of Arcann’s neck and squeezing in quiet reassurance. 

_You blocked it_ , Arcann said. _Before— when I—_

Thexan closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and Arcann, realizing for the first time how quick his breathing had become, copied him.

_Come with me._

Arcann followed Thexan in a daze, focusing instead of the warmth of Thexan’s hand around his, the brightness of his soul next to his own.

He didn’t realize where they were until Thexan was guiding him to sit on the bed in their shared quarters. 

_Arcann?_ Thexan asked. Arcann felt safe with Thexan there and indescribably happy— perhaps that’s partially what fueled his growing sense of dread.

 _You could have blocked it_ — 

_It never occured to me,_ Thexan admitted. _I didn’t think you’d take it_.

Arcann’s heart broke all over again. _But I did, and you’d have me forget—_

Thexan jerked back a little, face transforming into a scowl and he waved a hand forcefully. “No,” he said aloud, startling Arcann. “If you were to forget, what would happen then? We would be back to before, when you were so angry I couldn’t reach you.”

“But I can’t forgive it, either,” Arcann said. _Even though you asked it of me_.

“I don’t want all of our interactions to be colored by guilt,” Thexan explained. “Take it, learn from it, feel it, but let it go.”

Arcann chuckled wetly. “You’re starting to sound like a Jedi.”

Thexan huffed, knocking Arcann’s shoulder gently. “Don’t insult me. And don’t change the subject either.”

Arcann sighed. _I’m still having trouble believing this is real_.

The smile Thexan gave him was sad. _I know_.

 _I’ve hated myself for so long_ , Arcann told him. _What if I let go of that and fall again?_ Hurt _you again?_

 _You will just have to choose not to_ , Thexan said simply. 

Arcann snorted at that. “Sounds so easy.”

“It’s uncomplicated, but it’s still difficult,” Thexan agreed. “But you know what lies on the other side, and whether it is worth it.”

“Father wanted me to sacrifice everything,” Arcann said. “And I was—” He gave a broken laugh, feeling his eyes burn. “I didn’t realize that everything included you.” _You were a fixture, a permanent, something unable to be sacrificed._

“Father _would_ sacrifice everything,” Thexan said. “You, me, Vaylin, mother— if he had gotten his way, he would have killed us all.” Thexan shook his head. _He wanted you to be more like him_.

Arcann shuddered. Like Valkorion, the Eternal Emperor, and utterly alone. _Never again_.

Thexan smiled gently. _Then you’ve already learned from it._

“Will you give me time?” Arcann asked.

Thexan nodded, gathering Arcann into another hug. “As much as you need.”

  
  
  
  


Thexan kept a respectful distance over the bond, giving Arcann space to think and meditate. Though it was painful to shut Thexan out to some extent, Arcann always felt his presence, so he pushed the feeling aside to examine other emotions. 

Arcann pulled out the emotions he had been ignoring. It wasn’t just fear of hurting his brother that he found there— it was a fear of ruining him, of bringing Thexan down with him. Because Thexan was everything right and good in the world and Arcann… was not.

Arcann loved his sister, and still did so, but the love he felt for Thexan was different— all encompassing, total, absolute. Those years without Thexan were dark ones— Thexan made him feel whole, was his other half.

But Arcann wasn’t sure if it was the same for Thexan. If Arcann was Thexan’s heartbeat, the stars themselves, the sunset and rise. 

He thought he had put those emotions behind them, but they had only grown stronger. 

Thexan deserved to know why Arcann was pulling away. Why Thexan would be better off away from him, from his unnatural desires— 

Arcann shook away that line of thought. He could not dwell on possibilities, or hide his feelings forever, nor did he want to constantly live in fear for Thexan’s rejection. 

He sighed. Perhaps, giving voice to it, have Thexan refuse him, perhaps that would be an impetus for change. Arcann decided to act the next day, after a meeting. It would give them plenty of time to talk.

  
  
  


Arcann sighed after exiting the conference room. It was a tiresome meeting, one full of notes and legislation and _terms_ , all the things that Arcann had little patience for. He waited until the door slid shut behind him before looking for Thexan, following the traces of his presence.

He found Thexan sitting on the couch next to the window in their quarters, legs stretched out and head resting against the glass, watching the sun set between the trees. Arcann’s heart leapt to his throat, inexplicably moved by the simple sight of his brother gazing out the window. Something he thought he’d never see again. Arcann tried to strangle the storm of emotions that flared up inside him, but he was too late— 

Thexan turned his head towards him, brow already furrowed in concern. “Brother,” he said simply and held out his hand.

Arcann walked forward, hand raised to meet it, and entwined their fingers.

_I’m sorry._

Thexan gave a near-silent sigh. _You apologize far too often these days._

_I have much to atone for._

Thexan’s frown deepened for a second. “Not to me.”

Arcann shook his head. “Yes, I do,” he corrected quietly.

Thexan was quiet for a moment. “I am not your judge,” he said finally. “Whatever grievances you committed against me I’ve forgiven long ago—”

“This is something else,” Arcann interrupted. “Something different.”

Thexan sought his gaze, but Arcann refused to meet it. Instead he tried to memorize the feeling of their hands intertwined, Thexan’s presence a beacon of light and warmth in a sea of monotonous gray.

“I love you,” Arcann said quietly.

“And I, you,” Thexan said, “But what—”

Arcann carefully pulled his hand away and tried to ignore the hurt look on Thexan’s face, the flare of pain echoing across their bond. _I love you like my body does air—keeps it alive and without it, it would die._

Arcann breathed in deeply, trying to keep the sense of panic at bay. _Like a lover_.

Thexan’s eyes widened and Arcann was tempted to turn away, to flee, but he owed Thexan the chance to respond, and he _needed_ the certainty Thexan’s rejection would bring.

Thexan looked surprised, then he scowled as he rose to his feet, movements graceful and sure, body finally regaining the strength time in stasis had stolen.

“You are sorry for loving me?”

Arcann didn’t flinch, the words spoken aloud cementing his own twisted self, full of his twisted desires. 

“Why?”

Arcann froze, his resolve to stay and listen crumbling. Why would he ask such a thing?

“Because it’s… wrong. I am corrupted and I will drag you down with me—”

Thexan let out a snarl, an angry sound that Arcann could only recall hearing from the chaos of battle, when Arcann had been injured in the blast that cost him his arm— 

“Do you think it makes you weak?”

“No,” Arcann said, shaking his head, “But we are brothers--”

Thexan’s arms snapped forward, too fast for Arcann to fend off, though shame and self-hatred would prevent him from even trying— 

Thexan’s hands cupped his face, gently, like Arcann was something precious, and Arcann was stunned. “You are _mine_ ,” Thexan said fiercely, “And I, _yours_. Would you call my love for you unnatural? Depraved?”

“Of course not—” Arcann’s mind was reeling.

“Outsiders do not understand. _Will_ not. They would tear us apart and destroy us for living against their rules. Does their opinion matter? Or does mine?”

“Yours,” Arcann said softly. “Yours, of course—”

“Look at me,” Thexan insisted. 

Arcann steeled himself and did.

Thexan’s eyes were alive, fierce, and stubborn to the last. “I love you,” Thexan said, “And I say you are beautiful and good. Others who disagree with are fools—”

Thexan kissed him. “I love you,” he repeated when he pulled away. 

Arcann let out a sob. “You— ”

_Love you. Friend, brother, partner, lover— you are more than these._

Arcann’s body went slack, secure in Thexan’s arms, and allowed the feelings, like his but not his own because they were _Thexan’s_ , keep him afloat.

He wasn’t sure how long he floated until he surfaced, head resting in Thexan’s lap. Arcann looked at Thexan. 

“Thexan,” he started, but words failed him, the thousands of things he wanted to say drying up in his throat. 

From Thexan’s smile, Arcann had conveyed all the feelings his mouth and mind could not.


End file.
